STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

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Special Treat ??“ From Me!

Nov 21, 2005? 

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How Can I Say Goodbye?

Carol Roach

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Normally, I do not have difficulty writing, but how does one write about a dying sister? Does one start from the beginning, or jump in with a goodbye?

We were three sisters. I was the oldest, Linda, the middle sister, and Debbie the youngest. We grew up in separate homes. I stayed with my dad and grandmother. Linda was living with an elderly couple, while Debbie lived with another family outside of Montreal. My mom never kept any of us. As you can guess by now, she never married. She would have preferred her three girls together, but no one was about to take on three young children at a time.

I did not have much contact with either sister until the elderly man Linda was living with passed away and the wife was too old to take care of a nine-year-old by herself. Their daughter sent Linda back to my mom without a second thought. Suddenly, my mom had to care for a child for the very first time. Linda and I saw each other every time I visited with them.

Prior to my sister??™s arrival, I did not relish visiting with my mom; it was rather boring. ? After Linda got there, at least I had someone of my own age to hang out with. I still did not feel like I was apart of the newly created family. Linda soon became the favourite daughter and I felt like an outsider in my mother??™s home.

I remember seeing Debbie once when she was about 6-years-old. She showed me her two dolls; she named them after her sisters. She was not aware that the biggest doll should have been called Carol, and the smaller one Linda. Nobody ever told her the difference. Perhaps the family did not know. Being a child myself at the time, not yet nine-years-old, I was very insulted by this grave mistake. I don??™t ever remember wanting to visit this wayward sister again.

Later the decision to see Debbie was taken away from me. The family she was living with left the Montreal area and their whereabouts were unknown. It looked like I was never going to see my sister again. I do remember stating quite firmly that when I grew up, I was going to find my sister. My mom never said a word. Rumour had it that my sister was adopted.

In 1980, my beloved grandmother passed on and my world was turned upside down. I was also in the middle of a divorce. It just happened to be the year my mother found my sister Debbie, now all grown up. My mom placed an ad in the paper and a friend of my sister??™s saw it and told her about it. Debbie called the house, only now she was not Debbie Buckingham anymore; she was Joyce (her middle name) Tremblay, (the name of the family she grew up with). She had three children; the oldest was already 12-years-old.

My mom was so excited. I know I should have felt such joy. Here was my sister; the one I had thought was lost forever. Instead I just felt nothing. All I saw was a total stranger, where was the common bond, the familial ties?

My sister had many problems. She was just sixteen when she had her first child. The father was her high school teacher who left the scene when he found out she was pregnant. All three children had different fathers and she was living with the father of the youngest child. I shook my head in disgust.

???I cannot judge her,??? my mother said, ???I did the very same thing.???

My sister Linda and my mom went out of their way to make her feel at home. Since their home was not mine, I did not try. Over time, we got to talk and I found that Joyce and I had the same insecurities about the family. Why wouldn??™t we? She was also coming from the outside looking in. Worst than I, she was doing it as an adult. I had finally connected with my sister. I had found the common bond.

Unfortunately, my new found feelings came to an abrupt halt. Joyce had an argument with my mom and threw our conversations in her face. My mom was upset and my sister Linda was angry with me. Linda was adamant that I had no right talking to Joyce in that fashion. Our heart-to-hearts were taken as a direct attack and lack of respect for my mother.

In a way they were, but the situation was not of our doing. It was the situation my mother had created for three practically orphaned little girls. Linda reminded me that I should be looking at who my mother was today. I should not be looking at her mistakes from the past.

My mother did not have an easy life either and she did the best she could. Linda reminded me of the good things my mom had done for me since I got married and had a child of my own. And then I felt guilty. In my zest to bond with Joyce, I had forgotten to take my mother??™s feelings into consideration. I had not yet resolved my issues with my mom at that point; resolution was to come much later. Yet, I felt it best that Joyce and I did not have anymore heart-to-hearts. I guess she must have felt the same way because when we spoke together from that point onward, it was basically small talk.

From the beginning it was apparent that Joyce did not live the perfect life no more than I did. She had issues, her kids had issues, and as far as my mom was concerned no one could do anything as well as Linda. No one had perfect kids like Linda either.

In 1991, at the rip old age of 21, Patrick, Joyce??™s oldest son, committed suicide. My sister fell apart. She attempted suicide twice. Finally, it took my faithful sister Linda to have that serious talk with her; like she had with me so many years before.

It took awhile, but Joyce was finally getting back to some semblance of normalcy; at least what would be normal for her after the death of her firstborn. She was looking forward to seeing her younger children married with children of their own. She wanted lots of grandchildren.

Regrettably, life can be so ironic. Joyce lost a son through suicide and she made two failed attempts. She had survived these crises only to find out she now had bone cancer. Aggressive treatment was necessary. She was put on chemotherapy; the cancer went into remission.

She was already on the list for a bone marrow transplant five years after being diagnosed, when her health took a turn for the worst. She suffered a stroke. At this point she was taken off the list. The doctors decided the transplant would not do any good in this advanced stage of cancer and they preferred to save the treatment for someone who was not so critically ill.

My sister suffered in silence. She rarely spoke about her condition and tried to take one day at a time. For the past five year my sister has been in and out of the hospital on death??™s doorstep each and every time. Each day we expected to get the call that she passed on.

Again this was not meant to be. In September of 2005, my sister returned to the hospital. This time she was diagnosed with throat cancer and this time she told the family this was indeed the end for her.

The doctors were not certain that at this advanced stage, if an operation would help. My sister agreed to the operation but signed a living will. The doctors were ordered not to resuscitate should she die on the table.

They finally performed the operation two weeks ago. The result was not good. She had another stroke leaving her completely paralyzed on one side. She cannot see or hear on that side. She had a tracheotomy and she cannot eat or speak. The medical personnel are not certain about what, if anything, she understands at this point.

Were the doctors right in performing the operation? Her physician explained that if had taken all the cancer out he would have taken an entire side of her face. Were they using her for research at this late stage in the game? I will always wonder.

My mother prefers I do not go to the hospital at this point. She knows how terribly it affects me. My sister weighs about 78 pounds, and looks like a living skeleton. My mom says it is best to remember her as she was.

How can I not remember? How will I ever forget I did not make the effort to accept her in life when I had the chance? How could I forgot I was so wrapped up in my own issues those early years that I could not see the pain she carried within her. How can I even begin to call myself her sister? How can I say goodbye?

Joyce had fought the good fight, and now she can fight no more. My sister is not afraid of death she welcomes it. It is time for her pain to end. But will mine?

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Carol Roach

winterose@videotron.ca

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A Native of Montreal, Quebec, Carol is a graduate of Concordia, and McGill University.?  She holds a bachelor in psychology and a Masters in counselling psychology.?  Carol Roach is a published writer and newsletter editor.?  You can purchase her book: Picking up the Pieces: A Woman's Journey at www.publishamerica.com, or www.amazon.com.?  You can also go to your local bookstore and order it there as well.?  Carol??™s second book: Angels Watching Over is currently looking for a home. Stay tuned for details. ? 

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If you are interested in other stories feel free to join her newsletter: Storytime Tapestry at: http://subs.zinester.com/98907 , or email her directly at winterose@videotron.ca and she will be glad to accommodate you.?  Carol enjoys email and responds to every inquiry.

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